Maybe it’s the fact I dream about you every night… or maybe it’s the lack of your name lighting up my phone that’s bringing back waves of you. Maybe it’s my unplanned weekends, or my unkissed lips. Or maybe it’s as simple as me loving you that ruins any chance at getting over you. But really, I think it’s just the f***ing poster that hangs above my bed that bothers me so much. It’s full of all the countries in the world and we used to stare at it for hours, cuddling in my bed, picking the places we would one day visit together. And now, I sit here, alone, every g****** night staring at the very big, very intimidating country of Russia. I would laugh for hours at your stupid fake accent. I really just need to rip the poster up. Throw it away. But part of me loves staring at it… loves planning out our future even though we don’t have a present. And maybe in my colourful poster, you were the black that was creeping in. F*** it. I’m getting a new one.